A Wasteful Farmer?
a homily based on Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
by Rev. Thomas Hall

John Wesley could identify with this parable. He once wrote "the same sowers—Christ and the preachers—are sent by God to sow the same seed. So why does it not always have the same effect?" Over the years of riding the circuit in England, he could never quite anticipate how audiences would receive his preaching. On one occasion in England in 1771, Wesley wrote, "About an hundred attended at Reigate in the evening, and between twenty and thirty in the morning—dull indeed as stones."

Wesley’s discovery that the word of the kingdom does not receive the same response was the discovery of the disciples. They, too, wondered why more persons weren’t running to Jesus during the response to the Word. And another thing. Why were the very ones who knew the Scriptures best Jesus’ worst enemies? The conflict had gone from private discussion to public name-calling. Why this hatred for Jesus’ words? So maybe Jesus answers their confusion with this little story about the seeds and the soil.

"What do you make of this?" Jesus shouts to the huge crowd. "A farmer planted seed. As he scattered the see, some of it fell on the road, and birds ate it. Some fell in the gravel; it sprouted quickly but didn’t put down roots, so when the sun came up it withered just as quickly. Some fell in the weeds; as it came up, it was strangled by the weeds. Some fell on good earth, and produced a harvest beyond his wildest dreams. It’s just like an old farmer planting seed." [1]

"Isn’t that great!???!!!" He concludes his little story saying, "There, get it?" Well, the disciples who are sitting up on the front row all nod; after all they are the associates of Jesus.

During intermission, the disciples move Jesus to the side for a private conversation. Peter says, "Remember when you asked everyone if they got what you were driving at?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we lied. We really don’t get it."

(Sigh.) "Oh, I see. Okay, it’s like this . . . "

I once saw a pen drawing of this parable. It showed an old man with tattered hat walking alone in a vast field moving his hand open-palmed in a sweeping action; a spray of tiny seeds follow the path of his movement. We never see the face of the man, it’s turned away as if looking back at something. The man’s muscular calves and huge hands are striking. But we also see the seeds that have fallen on all of the soil types described in the gospel text.

If you covered up the explanation that follows this parable, would you get the story’s meaning? (But even given the "explanation," do we get it?) A lot of my preaching colleagues speak as if they have the inside track when they get to this parable. They just move down the page to the explanation. But truth be known, even the disciples may not have "got it" even after it was explained! The explanation seems as convoluted as the tiny 6-point font words on the back of exotic seed packets.

One thing that is obvious, though, is the emphasis on waste. The first group of seeds fail to germinate—end up as chicken feed. Get no further. The second group of seeds get fried in the hot sun. And the thorns strangle the third group. Only one verse out of the entire story describes the success. A lot of failure going on in the story. Growth is more accidental than planned. Holy waste! And to make matters worse, it seems that our sower is none other than Farmer God. Oh my!

Why would God waste time or words on such unproductive soil? Ever had that experience that you had over-seeded? Spent too much time and effort for the results that you got? My spouse has a saying for that kind of investment—spending a dollar’s worth of energy for a nickel’s worth of return. When it comes to the gospel and life, there is a lot of waste. And there are times when the harvest seems meager.

Take Steve for example. He came to faith in a little store front church that I pastured in Williamsburg, Kentucky years ago. He knelt down at our crude altar and bawled like a baby. Had no home. Or job. Or wheels. He was just a lonely kid. A red-haired seventeen year old runaway. For awhile I invited him to live with us in our little 12 x 40 mobile home. He was promising. Seemed a sure bet that the seed had been planted on good soil. Then he started coming home late at night. Strong smell of alcohol. Then a couple of times he stayed out all night. On one occasion he was so drunk that he had thrown up all over my car. Took days and strong cleaning agents and all the windows down before we forgot that night.

In the meantime, I had an entire congregation that needed help. Can’t waste it all on one person. So I had to let Steve go. Another seed had fallen on the thorny patch. What a tragedy. Months of sowing but not able to see the harvest.

Most of us will pastors will never get to see the harvest. We wonder what difference our words about the gospel will make. Each week I cast my little words among you. They bounce off the walls of this church, then there is silence. If those words take root in a life, bear fruit in someone experience, move you to some new place, I won’t know it. Sometimes it takes years for a word to germinate in the soul and take root. So I have resigned myself to be content with this parable to sow and then leave the harvest to someone else.

Jesus was a realist. He knew that much is wasted in the gospel, in life, and in love. Love never comes back to us on a tit-for-tat basis. With God or us. Most of our best efforts, our most loving acts, are "wasted." They go by without notice, without comment. They seem to fall stillborn to the ground.

When you take a little extra time with a customer at the supermarket, making sure that she gets what she wants, the manager doesn’t rush over and make you the "Employee of the Month" because you took extra time to care about someone.

When you give up your sleep-in Saturday to paint your body all up and go out door to door, colored balloons in hand in 100 degree weather inviting kids to Vacation Bible School, the camera crews from Channel 8 won’t catch you on film for the evening show. You just wasted two hours on nothing more significant than closed doors and suspicious eyes. But our parable also reminds us that sometimes in unexpected ways, and in surprising places, faithful sowing does produce good fruit.

I can still remember spending my summers on Ma and Pa’s farm in Minnesota. Every Sunday we went to Paynesville—the nearest town—for church. Don’t remember her name. A farmer’s wife, tall and spindly. Don’t really remember any profound word in particular that she said that has stuck with me all these years, except the way she said the word, "Philistine." She was a flannel board veteran! But it was her faithful presence that made the greatest impression on me; kept on summer after hot summer, telling us the Bible stories about how Samson stomped the Philistines. Her word of the kingdom eventually found a patch of good soil in my life and took root. I wish I could thank her, but she’s dead now. She never knew how profound her life was to me. What a farmer!

Behind all of the farming activity God waits patiently, never giving up on any soil; waiting for hearts to open; for seeds to take deep root. And only Farmer God knows what soil is good soil. May look pretty parched and mud-baked to us. But sometimes the least promising lives become the very soil that God calls "very good."

That’s what kept John Wesley on the road. That’s why he could say of his audience "dull indeed as stones," and finish the sentence affirming, "but cannot God out of these stones raise up children unto Abraham?" Sure can, John. From those stones, God has raised up teachers, preachers, nurses, social workers, supportive husbands and fathers, nurturing mothers, and other farmers.

A number of years ago, I was in Missouri finishing my course work at the university. Got a call.

"Hello?"

"Who?"

"Steve?"

That red-haired Steve had called to tell me that he’s in his second year in seminary and will be entering the ministry soon. Just called to say thanks.

Despite the over-watering, the under-watering, the careful nurturing, and the neglect—some of those words of the kingdom will take root and grow. And out of the corner of our eye we’ll catch that Old Farmer sleeves rolled up, leaning on the hoe with a grin as big as a rainbow turned upside down. Then we’ll realize that God’s efforts were not a holy waste at all, but wholly grace. Amen.

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[1] Taken from The Message paraphrase (Colorado Springs: NavPress, 1993).